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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28437171">A Magical New Year's Eve Masquerade</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PTwritesmore/pseuds/PTwritesmore'>PTwritesmore</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ballroom Dancing, Costume Parties &amp; Masquerades, Costumes, Dancing, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fluff, Forced Marriage, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, New Year's Eve, New Year's Fluff, New Year's Kiss, New Year's Resolutions, POV Hermione Granger, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Romantic Fluff, Wizarding Culture (Harry Potter), Wizarding World (Harry Potter)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:47:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,110</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28437171</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PTwritesmore/pseuds/PTwritesmore</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione begrudgingly attends a mandatory New Year's Eve masquerade the Ministry put on for the UK's single wizarding population in hopes of solving the population depletion issue. How will she handle running into an old classmate in a costume she never would have picked for herself? A fluffy Dramione one shot for New Year's Eve</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>138</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Magical New Year's Eve Masquerade</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Hermione smoothed the too-short skirt before knocking on the door of the Parkinson Manor. She had contemplated apperating back home six times since she arrived in front of the mansion, anxious to change into a more appropriate costume. But she knew Ginny would still be at 12 Grimmauld Place, ready to debate the merits of the miniskirt for the purposes of this specific fancy dress party. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny had bought the costume for her the day Hermione received the Ministry’s invitation for the New Year’s Eve masquerade. Or rather, their nicely-worded demand to attend the mandatory fancy dress party. Ginny had been sitting across from her when the Ministry owl arrived, the pair eating breakfast at 12 Grimmauld Place before Harry woke up. Once Harry joined them, he was subjected to an ongoing outraged rant from Hermione as Ginny escaped to do errands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We aren’t livestock! I don’t need to be rounded up alongside the UK’s single wizarding population with the hope of producing magical heirs. It is disgusting,” Hermione lamented. “I can’t believe that Kingsley would allow this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At least they aren’t requiring all the single people to marry or forcing women to have children through the Ministry,” Harry shrugged, clearly trying to be helpful. Hermione knew that they’d gone through the same conversation twice already and he just wasn’t sure what else he could say to comfort her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh Merlin, you don’t think they’d do that, do you?” Hermione's stomach dropped at the idea of such an invasive seizure of bodily autonomy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Er - no, no. I’m sure it will be fine. It sounds like this is just a first attempt to get people out there after the war to help the issue. It’s only been three years,” Harry stammered as Ginny walked in. “But maybe Ginny can help you figure out what to do,” he said quickly as he ran out of the room. Ginny rolled her eyes at his back before turning around and shoving a bag into Hermione's hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione cautiously opened the package, revealing a bag full of feathers. “Ginny -” she started, before her roommate pushed her towards the bathroom to try it on. “Fine,” Hermionie relented as she closed the room and put it on, whispering the charm written on the box. Looking in the mirror, she examined the costume.  The face of a brown barn owl stared back, startling her. Affixed to the back of the brown feathered leotard were wings that mirrored the movements of her arms. “Clever,” Hermioine mused as she tested the movements. Her eyes fell onto the feathery skirt that just covered her bum and her still human legs. “Ginny,” she yelled, slamming open the door and pointing at the skirt in exasperation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hermione, it is a party to help you find a match. Showing a little leg won’t kill you,” Ginny had giggled as Hermione scrunched her nose. “At least I didn’t get you the Veela costume!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fiery redhead’s words echoed in her mind as the Parkinson Manor door swung open to reveal a short house elf in a formal bowtie. “Invitation?” asked the house elf, unblinking eyes watching her carefully and hand outstretched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good evening,” she greeted the elf with a smile as she handed him the invitation. He silently waved her in where she was stopped in the hallway by a Ministry official who whispered an incantation on her mask. Once she was waved on again, she gingerly walked towards the ballroom, the matching feathered heels tapping loudly on the marble floor as she approached. She cursed her ankles for wobbling as they adjusted to this much higher height shoe that Ginny had talked her into. Pausing in the doorway, anxiety rose in Hermione’s chest as she looked into a sea of costumed wizards and witches. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Following her howler earlier in the week, Kingsley assured her that the Ministry wouldn’t be forcing any witches or wizards into anything they weren’t willing to do. Instead, they felt a lighthearted party would be a good way to allow the magical community to continue to heal, and potentially find a good match, which would eventually help with the magical population issue. This fit with a number of the rebuilding efforts Kingsley and the Ministry had enacted in the past two years. As much as she trusted Kingsley, the alarm in her head rang out with reminders of the Muggle-born Registration Committee. Wary of potentially illegal Ministry interference, she tried to focus on the party scene ahead of her rather than panicked thoughts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Candles floated about the crowd of unrecognizable eligible bachelors and bachelorettes, with enchanted constellations swirling around the ceiling. She spotted a gaggle of Ministry officials in the corner talking with Lady Parkinson, who no doubt jumped at the chance to host such a large scale event in her home. Hermione’s eyes swept over the masked veelas and centaurs dancing and the trolls and fairies talking at cocktail tables, until they landed at the nearly abandoned drink table. She was thankful she came fashionably late, showing up with only an hour until midnight with the party already in full swing. Deciding facing a handful of people would be easiest, she pushed herself forward to the drinks.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me,” she tapped the man blocking the punch bowl on the shoulder. Straightening up, the man turned around, his black robes rustling with the movement. Hermionie balked as she took him in, broad shoulders, deathly pale, slicked back blond hair. All unmistakeable features. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Draco Malfoy?” Draco started for a moment, but Hermione wasn’t sure if it was at her use of his name, her incredulous tone, or the fact that he was staring down at an owl’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, we know each other, do we?” Draco pursed his lips as he looked Hermione up and down for a moment, pausing just too long at the Godric-damned miniskirt. Thankfully, he seemed unable to place her in her costume. They’d seen each other two years prior, when she testified at his trial that he had lied to protect Harry, Ron, and her at Malfoy Manor. He’d awkwardly thanked her and apologized after, explaining how his views on blood status changed dramatically during the course of the war and how much he regretted his actions towards her in school. She’d forgiven him, thankful to see the former bully growing into a seemingly better person. Outside of that, she’d seen his picture in the society pages of </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Prophet</span>
  </em>
  <span>, attending charity balls and donating to various causes. She wasn’t sure how much of it was sincere and how much of it was an act to rehabilitate the Malfoy name. Seeing him here was different than anything prior, however, his features looking less pointy than she remembered and his voice deeper than the last time they spoke. Gone were the black circles under his tired eyes and the semi-permanent sneer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose we do,” she said slowly. “But I shouldn’t be able to tell that! Why aren’t you in costume? Or at least in a mask? We’re meant to conceal our identities,” Hermione hissed the last part, looking around them at the masked crowd.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, but I am in costume,” he drawled. “I’m a homicidal maniac, they look like everyone else,” he gestured up and down at himself flippantly before taking a large swig from his glass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t realize you watched muggle movies,” Hermione said after a beat, realizing it was an </span>
  <em>
    <span>Aadams Family</span>
  </em>
  <span> quote. Draco quirked a pale eyebrow at her, studying her for a moment before answering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Part of the mandatory reform class I took all last year. I actually didn’t mind the media aspect - movies, music, and books were far more interesting than learning about the countless wars muggles inflicted upon each other.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds like a rather fun class. Did you have a favorite muggle book?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hard to pick honestly. I mostly enjoy the musings of muggle philosophers. Locke, Nietzsche, and the like,” he shrugged. “Still working my way through, so I don’t want to limit myself to a single favorite. I can’t believe muggle authors aren’t included in our Hogwarts curriculum. Have any suggestions for me to add to my reading list?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I could write you a list of must-reads,” she offered, surprising herself. “It will be far too long, mind you. But you may find poetry of interest if you enjoy philosophy. There is a severe lack of wizarding poetry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That would be much appreciated,” he said. “Now tell me, since you know me despite this excellently crafted costume, </span>
  <em>
    <span>who</span>
  </em>
  <span> you are,” he said, emphasizing the word who as he looked at her costume intently. His smaller smile broke into a goofy grin Hermionie had never seen on his face before. She rather liked this new, casual Malfoy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was terrible,” she giggled at the awful pun, despite her efforts to suppress it. “And being aware of each other’s identity is not the point of this ridiculous event,” Hermione said with a sigh. “We are all meant to get to know each other on a deeper level,” she added, trying to keep the sarcasm from her voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You aren’t thrilled about the Ministry playing matchmaker, then?” Her attempt to sound sincere had apparently fallen flat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely not,” she scoffed, her anger overtaking any inclination towards social grace. “This is degrading. It’s not our fault the population was depleted and I’m concerned we are repeating our earlier issue of the Ministry overstepping boundaries of free will. Also the implication of matching people for breeding purposes brings new meaning to lie back and think of England.” Malfoy choked on his drink, apparently just as surprised as she was by her blunt statement. “And look at the decorations,” she added quickly, hoping to avoid any further talk about sex. “This money could’ve been spent on countless other more important things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like what?” Malfoy peered curiously at her over his cup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Funding the proposed Centaur Reservation Act for starters. Supporting the London Magical Being Orphanage would also be far more appropriate in terms of helping the wizarding community,” Hermione said, a wave of the familiar anger at the Ministry’s incompetence she felt nearly daily at work cresting in her chest. “There are countless underfunded efforts the Ministry looked over in favor of a lavish party.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, you must work at the Ministry then,” his gray eyes narrowed as he studied her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you happy about this party?” Hermione asked lightly, trying to quickly switch topics. She preferred not figure out who she was so she could end this surprisingly pleasant exchange as soon as possible. Her plan had been to attend as was mandatory, make some small talk, and leave as quickly as possible. “I can’t imagine you’re hard up for prospects, being a Malfoy and all that.” Draco smirked before taking a long sip of his drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not particularly thrilled that this is how I’m spending the evening. Mother is already pushing my patience with her matchmaking efforts, I certainly don’t need additional government-sponsored support on that front,” Draco said as he rolled his eyes theatrically. The motion reminded her of the young boy she knew at Hogwarts and his flair for the dramatic.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haven’t found anyone good enough for the Malfoy standards then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haven’t found anyone who isn’t astonishingly boring,” Draco chuckled. “And who is okay with me being an actual homicidal maniac. Not just a costume to most people - I was a Death Eater, you know,” his voice was much quieter as he continued, his face more solemn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m well aware,” Hermione said as nonchalantly as possible, though internally she was laughing at the absurdity of the way her night was playing out. What would sixth year Harry, practically a Malfoy stalker at one point, think of the blond’s casual confession just now? Of course, Harry had spoken at both Malfoys’ hearings two years ago. While they were by no means friends, they’d both apologized to each other and were civil whenever they ran into each other. Perhaps he wouldn’t be so bothered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And yet, you’re still talking to me. Which would normally mean you’re part of a family who is desperately clinging to the old ways. But the actually interesting conversation means you can’t be any of the women I’ve been forced to talk to during my tour du marriable witches,” Draco said, watching so closely Hermione was worried he could see under the mask for a moment. “I can’t reconcile how a muggle-born witch,” he paused until she gave him a nod of confirmation, “could stand to look at me, let alone provide such charming conversation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were a child. We were all children trying to survive,” Hermione said as gently as possible, tilting her chin up at him. “I don’t think I could even call you a Death Eater, given the positon you were put in. I’m sorry that people aren’t kind about that.” They looked at each other, waiting for the other to break the silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you like to dance?” Draco asked, holding out a hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m not a particularly good dancer,” Hermione looked down at her feet, remembering how clumsily she danced at the Memorial Ball earlier in the year. “I’m much better at conversation, believe me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you stomped my feet right off, I’d still be the luckiest man in the room to dance with such an interesting witch,” he gave her a charming smile that looked far more genuine than that haughty smirk he wore when they were in school. She slipped her hand into his and he led her to the dance floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione tried to ignore the quickening beat of her heart as Draco put his hand on the outer side of her waist. She also tried to ignore the mental observation of how broad his chest was now as she gingerly placed her hand on his shoulder. Instead, she focused on the feeling of his hand, surprised at how rough it was given it’s perfectly kept appearance. She wondered what he did to give his hands such calluses. The pair danced in silence, letting the music fill the space between them. For the first song, Hermione moved stiffly, in the formal positioning they learned in preparation for the Yule Ball during their fourth year. She kept her eyes trained on her own feet, hoping to avoid stepping on his gracefully moving ones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Relax,” Draco said quietly as he leaned in, his breath hot on the shell of her ear. “Here, just move this,” he grabbed her hand and slid it up around his neck, “and I’ll move too if it is okay,” he said as he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. Suddenly the room felt significantly warmer. “Look at me. Or over my shoulder if you want. I won’t let you step on me.” Hermione smiled at him before looking over his shoulder to avoid a prolonged and awkward eye contact. Their movements were smoother Hermione realized as the next song went on. It seemed as though he knew exactly where to go, how to move. She snuck a glance at Draco, who was smiling serenely with his eyes closed, moving to the music. As another song started, she began to break away, knowing he’d have other people to talk to tonight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” he whispered, not letting go of her. “Would you do me the honor of another dance?” Hermione looked up curiously at him, wondering if he’d be asking if he knew who she was. “I don’t mean to monopolize your evening, of course,” Draco added when she didn’t respond, allowing his arms to drop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’d like to dance again. You’re quite skilled and it is lovely feeling like I can actually dance,” Hermione said as she stepped back towards him. Draco smiled broadly as he wrapped his arms around her. Again, Hermione felt as though they were floating as Draco took the lead. She pressed herself into him, dropping her head to his warm chest and allowing herself to close her eyes too as he led them around the dance floor. They stayed this way song after song, moving fluidly as one unit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe that a war heroine would dance with a former Death Eater,” he whispered, nearly inaudible over the buzz of the party around them. “But it is a lovely surprise, Granger.” She pushed herself back to look at him, her mouth hanging open. He chuckled lowly at her surprise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How could you tell it was me?” she asked shrilly, shocked he had identified her beneath the owl mask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knew almost immediately. Muggle knowledge and the immediate interest in what I was reading? Plus, you were willing to speak to me, so clearly that bleeding heart you’re famous for. The skirt is what threw me. The Hermionie Granger I knew in school would never wear something so...tiny.” Draco drew out the last word with an interested expression, quirking a pale eyebrow at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ginny…” Hermione trailed off, her face flushed. She was never so grateful for a mask in her life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, well I’ll have to thank her,” Draco’s familiar smirk returned, though he looked more amused than arrogant. “I couldn’t convince you to wear that skirt to the Charity Ball for the Orphanage next month, could I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, absolutely not,” Hermione scoffed. “I’m never wearing this again!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is a shame,” Draco drawled as he slowly looked down at the skirt and back up at her. “Perhaps you’d accompany me in something more suitable?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is for a good cause...” Hermione trailed off, smiling shyly at him. He smiled back before twisting her out in a spin and pulling her back in even closer. Around them a countdown began as he dipped her lowly.  He pulled her up slowly, their eyes glued to each other, until she was back to her original potion in her arms. “3...2…1!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the clock struck midnight, the masks vanished across the dance floor vanished. The enchanted ceiling lit up with fireworks, causing Hermione to gasp in surprise. Flushed against him, she could feel the deep rumble of laughter from Draco’s chest even though she couldn’t hear it over the cheering. Hermione tilted her head up to look at him, finding steel eyes staring back at her, darkening as they darted to her mouth. She gave a small smile and nod before he leaned down and brushed his lips against her’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Happy New Year, Hermione. This is the best way I could imagine starting it,” Draco whispered against her lips. Hermione agreed with another kiss, mentally thanking Ginny for the costume; even the miniskirt. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you've read my other fics, you know I have a soft spot for dancing! Hope you all have a happy New Year's Eve and may your 2021 be healthy, happy, and full of good fanfic. Comments and thoughts always appreciated!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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